


Sacrificial Lamb

by commanderlurker (honeybee592)



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Butch/Femme, F/F, Femslash February, Fisting, Leather
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 04:30:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17739035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybee592/pseuds/commanderlurker
Summary: Lana works too hard. Lance buys her a gift--leather gloves. But they're not for Lana to wear.





	Sacrificial Lamb

**Author's Note:**

  * For [butterpanic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterpanic/gifts).



Lambskin makes the most luxurious gloves. Soft, supple, the leather moulds around Lance’s fingers and when Lance she, the leather pulls tight. She’d never had a need for such gloves when she’d been Cipher Nine, preferring gear more utilitarian, functional. She bought the best her allowance could afford, of course. Only the best for the best. That’s why she’s treated herself to these lambskin gloves. They’re also a gift, though the recipient won’t be the one wearing them. That’s Lance’s privilege.

She leaves them on the bed, one laid over the other, deliberately casual, and heads out. There’s a small chance Lana will return to their quarters during the day, but once she’s up and out, that’s usually it until the sun has long gone down. Even then Lance often has to persuade Lana to put down the datapad and come get some sleep.

(Only once has Lance gotten so frustrated that she put Lana over her shoulder and carried her to bed. Such behaviour is unbecoming of the Alliance’s leadership, but it was late enough that even Theron had slinked off to bed.)

There won’t be any risk of Lana working through dinner tonight though. They’ve made plans. Put it in the calendar. The whole Alliance leadership knows that at 1900, Lana and Lance will stop work and have dinner in the cantina. 2V-R8 will probably put a candle on their table, too. After dinner, well, it doesn’t take a spy to work out what they’ll do. (The wise among the Alliance will avoid walking past Lance and Lana’s quarters, and if they must, they will block their ears and feign ignorance. And they will definitely avoid making eye contact with Lana first thing in the morning.)

As Lance goes about her day, she lets her mind wander to the gloves. She smiles. Lana asks her why she’s smiling.

“Can’t a girl just be happy?” Lance says.

Lana frowns, but doesn’t press. Spies have their secrets to keep.

*

Dinner is wonderful. Not the most decadent but they make do with what they can on Odessen. They _are_ in the midst of fighting a war, after all. Anyway, the company is what’s most important.

After the plates are cleared, Lance takes Lana’s hand and they stroll back to their quarters, through the carved out tunnels of the Alliance base. Lamps strung along the stone light their way, too bright. Lance makes a joke about the sunset.

*

“Oh, what are these doing here?” Lana asks. So this is the first time she’s been back in their quarters today. She picks them up, rubs them with her thumb. Her eyes go wide and she hums as she presses them to her cheek. “They’re beautiful.” Lana’s voice is full of passion, joy. Lance’s heart swells.

“They’re for us,” Lance says.

“Us?” Lana asks. “There’s only two. Are we going to wear one each?” she teases.

Lance smirks. “We could, I suppose. I had other ideas…”

Lana’s expression changes from delight to concern. “How will we--”

Lance silences her with a kiss. And to make sure Lana doesn’t raise more objections, Lance wraps her arms around Lana, squeezes her arse, and kisses her harder. The tension drains from Lana’s body, her shoulders slumping, as Lance bends to plant a trail of kisses along Lana’s jaw and down her neck. Lana sighs, even giggles. Lance lifts her up and carries her the few steps to their bed.

Lana lets Lance undress her, wiggling to help get her trousers over her hips and down her thighs. Lance takes her time, peeling off Lana’s layers. When she’s down to just her underwear, she smothers Lana in kisses. Her breasts, full and soft. Her belly, her navel. She kisses her cunt over her underwear and drinks in her scent. And when Lana’s bra and underwear hit the floor, Lance dives in for more.

Lance’s clothes come off eventually. It’s only fair. She kneels in front of Lana and tugs her so Lana’s raised knees form a warm, lucious wall around Lance. Lana’s eyes drift shut as Lance runs her palms over Lana’s thighs, over her mound and belly. Her muscles are hard under Lance’s fingers. She wields her lightsaber too much for someone who’s part of the Alliance leadership. They all chip in though, all play their part, whether that’s in the war room or in the field. Lana arches her back, drapes her arms behind her head. The move pulls her breasts. Lance’s mouth waters. She wants more. They both do.

One glove on first. Then the other. Lance flexes her fingers like she did this morning. She grins as she looks at Lana’s closed eyes. Palm up, she presses her middle finger to Lana’s cunt, and slides up, wrist twisting to circle her clit. Lana moans. Lance presses her whole palm against Lana, cupping her. She massages her, spreading the slick over her glove, until she can slip her finger in easily. So warm, even through the leather.

Lana’s hips buck, so Lance places her free hand on Lana’s hip to settle and soothe her as she continues to finger Lana.

“Is that--?” Lana’s head is raised, looking down her body to Lance.

“Shh,” Lance says

“But the gloves--”

“Do you want me to give you the fuck of your life or not?” It’s not a real chide, more playful. A promise.

Lana flops back down. “Yes, very much so.”

So Lance gives Lana the fuck of her life. Two, three fingers in, she strokes Lana’s cunt, circles her clit, drawing out the most wonderful moans from Lana. She swaps hands when she needs to. Her gloved fingers are slick and sticky, stained dar, but she doesn’t care. She leans forward and palms Lana’s breast, running her fingers over Lana’s nipple. Lana’s cry is enough to make Lance drip. Still, she’s not done. Not until Lana’s a quivering, mumbling mess. She’s got a way to go yet.

Lana needs this, needs this focus, this break. She works too hard. They all do, but Lance, more than anyone in the Alliance, knows the importance of disengaging, checking out, just for a few hours. They can’t keep running, can’t keep fighting, strategising, planning, orchestrating, forever. And Lana is Lance’s priority. So Lance fucks her.

Decadent.

Luxurious.

Everything Lana deserves. Lana’s knee bumps Lance, so Lance kisses it, and clamps it between her arm and torso, keeping it in place. Lana’s other leg is splayed open. Lance’s mouth waters at the view.

She gets to four fingers, stretching Lana wide. Maybe she can go the whole way. She hadn’t planned on fisting her, but now she’s four fifths of the way in. Mission parameters change all the time. Good agents make the most of such changes, work them to their advantage.

She gives Lana repiste while she fetches lube from the bedside table.

Lana’s hand brushes Lance’s side. “My love,” Lana says. She’s all soft-eyed, and gooey, her smile easy, hair tousled. She’s the sexiest woman Lance has ever seen.

Lance bends to kiss her, holds her sticky gloved hand to Lana’s jaw. “Do you want to keep going?”

Lana nods. Her eyes slip closed. All her worries are gone.

Lance returns to her position at the opening of Lana’s legs and strokes her again, coaxing her loose. With patience, lube,and her thumb tucked against her fingers, she slips in further and further. Lana groans, gripping the sheet with white knuckles and arching her back. Lance takes her knee again, kisses her skin, shushes her with gentle words as her fist fills Lana. She moves slow, gentle, every touch deliberate. Lana’s cunt clamps around Lance’s wrist. Her skin is flushed pink, dappled with sweat. Her stomach and breasts rise and fall with heavy, laboured breaths. The scent of sex fills the air, cloying, thick. Gently, Lance rubs Lana’s clit with her free hand. Lana howls and spasms but Lance doesn’t let up until Lana pushes Lance’s hand away. Too much now, she draws back. Lana relaxes, moaning on every breath, twitching as she comes down. Lance holds steady, watching Lana’s chest rise and fall, the twitch of her fingers, the fullness of her parted lips. She presses her gloved hand to Lana’s hip, holding her. The leather creaks. She eases her fist out, leaving Lana boneless and at ease.

Lana curls onto her side. Her cheeks are rosy red, worry lines gone. Her breath is calm. Asleep already. Lance flexes her fingers. They’re wet, sticky, dark and stained with come. The gloves are ruined. No matter. It was worth it.


End file.
